


The Red Queen and Her White Knight

by Freya_Kendra



Category: Stargate SG1
Genre: Angst, Gen, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Kendra/pseuds/Freya_Kendra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Goa'ulds somehow failed to annihilate the people on P97-654, but they did not fail to leave their mark. Now Daniel Jackson and Janet Frasier, on a misguided mission of mercy, must face the consequences. (Not a Shipper fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Queen and Her White Knight

The Red Queen and Her White Knight

by Freya-Kendra

 

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Pairing: Daniel/Janet (friendship)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The Goa'ulds somehow failed to annihilate the people on P97-654, but they did not fail to leave their mark. Now Daniel Jackson and Janet Fraiser, on a misguided mission of mercy, must face the consequences.

Notes: This is not a DJ/JF shipper piece, yet neither shippers nor non-shippers should find themselves disappointed.

Posting Date: Posted at Danielites as a WIP throughout 2002; Archived at U-N-A-S: March 20, 2004

 

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The Red Queen and Her White Knight

 

1

 

Daniel Jackson enjoyed a cup of fresh coffee. In fact, it was so good he managed to ignore – maybe even forget the fact that he was in General Hammond's briefing room deep in the heart of Cheyenne Mountain. He closed his eyes as he took another pleasurable sip. This coffee seemed especially good in comparison to the bitter drink he'd been offered on P97-654. That stuff had been brewed in battered tin pots over the open fire of an old-world hearth. There was no decent way to filter out the grinds, which could sit in the pot for hours. The beans were different there, too. Or perhaps it was just the roasting process. He hadn't asked how that was done. Not yet, anyway.

"… Not exactly Mad Max, but you get the picture."

Cuing in to Jack O'Neill's voice, Daniel blinked. What was he doing? He was supposed to be concentrating on the debriefing. He mentally chided himself and tried once again to focus. Unfortunately, telling himself what to do and actually doing it could sometimes be two very different things. This was clearly one of those times.

With a heavy sigh, he wrapped both hands around the steaming cup and leaned back in his chair. He had to relax the gears spinning around in his head. He was worlds away from 654, both literally and figuratively. That planet had progressed from a wasteland to an untamed wilderness in the course of a century. The devastation shown in the slides Sam was describing now seemed incomprehensible, perhaps even fictional. Sitting there in his comfortable chair, relishing the fragrant scent of his coffee, Daniel found this viewing almost acceptable - almost.

"As you can see, General," Sam Carter said, "the damage represents what could become of any metropolitan area on Earth after a significant Goa'uld attack."

The images on the screen showed buckling concrete roads, bisected many times over and stretching out for miles in all directions. Trees grew through the large gaps the Goa'ulds' weapons had left behind. In some places, massive sheets of concrete were thrown haphazardly one atop the other, like the abandoned toys of some giant child. Perhaps most chilling of all, the skeletons of vehicles surprisingly like our own cars littered the spaces, while those of once tall buildings left a skyline of contorted, dark steel girders.

Daniel's gears began to spin anew, allowing a painful memory to creep into his consciousness, the memory of another Earth falling to the Goa'uld. Another Sam Carter and another Catherine Langford had had one last chance to open the Stargate before their mountain was destroyed. Daniel had persuaded them to use that window to save him instead of themselves, so he might save his Earth from the same fate. P97-654 represented what that Earth probably looked like right now. That other Sam and Catherine, the other Jack, even his own alter image were already dead in that reality.

Daniel envisioned his old university halls, the Chicago museum, Jack's roof under the stars, all crumbling to dust, like the city ruins on 654.

He shivered from a sudden chill and took a welcome sip of hot coffee.

Needing a reprieve from these dark thoughts, Daniel glanced away from the screen and noticed Dr. Frasier jotting something down on her notepad. Yes, there were survivors on 654, living, breathing people with ongoing medical needs. Could that mean there were also survivors on the alternate Earth? As much as Daniel wanted to cling to that hope, he couldn't. The survivors on P97-654 were a fluke. The Goa'uld were not generally so careless.

"Just how much like Earth was this planet?"

Daniel let the sound of the general's barely discernable Texas drawl pull him back from his reverie in time to hear Jack's honest and somehow frightening answer.

"I'd swear one of those cars was the shell of a '68 Mustang." Unfortunately, he was not being sarcastic. It was the absolute truth.

Sam brought up the next slide, showing items which could as easily have been found at the SGC after a Goa'uld attack. "This city almost paralleled any we have on Earth. At just the one site, we found what appear to be computers, copy-machines, everything you would expect to find in any office building here."

"Almost paralleled, Major? In your opinion, what are the primary differences between our worlds?"

Jack replied instead. "How about the fact that they actually fought the Goa'uld and lost?"

"No, sirs," Carter countered. "I don't think so. The evidence suggests a massive, sudden attack. We haven't seen anything yet to indicate these people had a chance to even try to fight back."

"Indeed." Teal'c gave a slight nod. "As would be typical of the Goa'uld."

Daniel leaned forward in his chair, setting his cup on the table as he prepared to address one of his own, nagging concerns. "Yes, well, I'd say the fact there were any survivors was pretty atypical, wouldn't you?"

"That is correct, Daniel Jackson. When a system lord orders this degree of destruction, it is generally intended to eliminate the population entirely." Teal'c turned away from Daniel, his eyes growing distant as his jaw twitched, his visage turning cold. "This lord's Jaffa would pay dearly for leaving the planet before the devastation was complete."

Daniel's dark thoughts were spreading.

Luckily, Sam was not as deeply affected. "We're just beginning to analyze the computers we brought back with us," she said excitedly, guiding them all beyond the sudden, somber mood, "but what we've found so far suggests the people on P97-654 were slightly more advanced than we are today. And since this attack seems to have occurred at least a hundred years ago, there's no telling how many more advancements they might have made if they'd been allowed to continue as they were."

"Yeah, well, they kind of fell behind that particular eight-ball," Jack said.

Hammond turned a questioning eye on him. "Colonel?"

But Daniel took that as his own cue to respond. "The life-style they've taken up since their city's destruction is primitive by comparison."

He rose, taking Sam's place in front of the screen and calling up a slide that presented a stark contrast to the ruined city, this one showing what might have been a quaint replica of a small town in the old west. "No electricity. No running water."

"No phones, no lights, no motor cars," Jack mumbled.

"Did the original survivors at least try to reestablish such rudimentary necessities?" Hammond asked, paying no attention to Jack's remark.

"I don't know," Daniel's answer came slowly as he mentally chalked up another mark on his own tally of suspicions. "But whatever they did at first, their descendants want no part of it. The people there now stay well away from the old city and won't even try to understand what their ancestors lived like."

That was Daniel's chief frustration. How could any society move ahead without understanding what was left behind?

He cleared his throat but was not as successful at clearing his mind. "It took a century before they tried to build a community again. Until recently, they'd lived in small, family units, completely cut off from one another. Apparently, this town is the first of its kind."

Hammond gave SG-1's anthropologist a penetrating look. "What changed?"

Daniel met the general's gaze. "Right."

He looked back toward the screen and pulled up another image. "This is Cor Naedjel, the chief elder. `Cor' is a respectful title, given to anyone with any degree of authority, but this man has all the real power. Most citizens are addressed using the term `Den', something akin to our use of `Mr.', or ` Der ' for `Ms.' or `Mrs.'"

He gave himself a moment to stare at the screen, studying the image before returning his attention to the general. "Cor Naedjel calls Unity his town and credits himself with having brought his people together."

"Fair enough," Hammond answered. "They seem to be on their road to recovery. Regardless of what you might feel about this man's politics, Dr. Jackson, why should we intervene?"

This time it was Dr. Frasier's turn to take the cue. "General, if I may?"

At his quick nod, she continued, leaving Daniel free to retake his seat.

"According to SG-1's reports, the people in Unity are suffering some negative effects from coming together after an extended period spent in isolation. While it would require an on-site study to be conclusive, I believe this town could be a catalyst for evolving variations of viruses and bacterium. Illnesses one family unit may have developed immunities for are infecting the other family units, and those illnesses could be mutating at an incredible rate. Sir, if I'm right and we don't help these people get the situation under control, this `community' of theirs could soon become as extinct as their ancestors' city."

"Thank you, Doctor." The general seemed to consider her words for a moment before turning his attention to Jack. "Colonel?"

"I think it would be a good idea for us to find out how they got the Goa'ulds ' attention in the first place, General."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I'm hoping we'll see something useful in that respect on the computer data we're trying to retrieve."

"Very well, Major. Keep me apprised."

Daniel took another sip of coffee, considering the jumble of questions still on his mind. He decided it was time to voice the one foremost among them. "General Hammond, these people have a past they're either trying to conceal from us, or they're trying to hide from themselves. Either way, I think it's important we find out what it is."

"Very well. Dr. Frasier, SG-1, you have a go. I want a full assessment of resource requirements documented and on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning."

 

-2 -

 

Sitting at a rough hewn table in a splinter nest of a wooden chair, Daniel thought back to that last debriefing and silently cursed his own continued failure to find answers. Five weeks had passed already, but he still felt as clueless as he had in the briefing room. Fraiser had made massive strides, confirming her suspicions and progressing on to develop and dispense appropriate vaccines. Jack and Teal'c had found sufficient clues to unravel the likely progression of the battle, identifying the first targets and the weapons used to destroy them, and were now back at the SGC, going over the computer files Sam had been able to restore from the dead city's fried hard-drives. The rest of his team, SG-1 sans one, were bound to find something in those files to help explain the coming of the Goa'uld.

And what had Daniel learned? Not a damned thing.

Frustrated, he closed the book on the table before him, careful not to damage the crisp pages of poorly milled paper. He knew he should be fascinated with these hand-scribed texts and the tales they told about a society coming back from the brink of extinction. The last hundred years had been a constant struggle to survive. Nearly every key moment in that struggle had been carefully documented in books like this. But what had happened before the Great Purge, as the people here had named the one-sided battle that had decimated this planet, a world that had once been similar to present-day Earth?

It was time to accept the fact that his search was useless. The books he really needed were the ones his hosts, the people of Unity, were not willing to provide.

He took off his glasses, gently laying them on the table as he rubbed his weary eyes. Until yesterday, he'd assumed all the older books, mass produced versions like those found on the shelves of giant bookstores back home, had been destroyed in the Great Purge. But that was far from the truth. There were still hordes of them kept hidden away in vaults he had yet to see, valued now for something other than reading, something so ... wrong!

It had been the only real discovery he'd made since returning to the planet. Taking a break from his study of Unity's newer books, he had wandered to the window of this small room. Despite the late afternoon heat, a young boy stoked a fire the community kept permanently alive within a rusted, metal trashcan at the near end of the street. Similar fires burned endlessly in the back alleys of any city in America ; but their purpose was far different. This fire was said to represent Unity, both the village and the concept that provided its name. The constant flames gave light into the darkness and offered direction for those who yet lived apart. The cultural symbolization had fascinated Daniel when he'd first learned of it. Yet his interest had turned quickly to dismay.

The boy fed the flames with books.

Daniel remembered arguing about his discovery with Cor Naedjel, the community's chief elder, a man who appeared to love his community with all the warmth and affection of a true, genealogical patriarch.

"That!" Daniel had shouted more vehemently than intended, his left arm thrusting out towards the window. "That is what I'm talking about! How can you regard some books with an almost spiritual reverence, while others are just ... just .... " He couldn't find a word strong enough.

"Fuel." Cor Naedjel answered calmly.

Sighing as he tried to regain his composure, Daniel still couldn't stop himself from shaking his head in refusal. "It's been at least a century. The forests have already come back. There's plenty of wood. You don't have to burn books. Not anymore."

"You're right, Dr. Jackson. There are plenty of trees now. You are absolutely right. But it has not always been so. No. Not for a long, long time."

Naedjel had crossed to the window, gently pulling back the delicate, lace curtain and gazing well beyond the fire that so goaded Daniel. "They are beautiful, those trees, aren't they? So tall. So strong. So supple. Able to bend with the grace of the finest dance, even in the harshest wind. Beautiful. It is a miracle to see them reborn as they are now. A true miracle. For so long there was nothing. Miles and miles of charred, empty ruin. Nothing. Nothing grew. For so very, very long."

He let the curtain fall back into place and slowly strode towards the table, his eyes locked on Daniel's. "That forest is a reminder, Dr. Jackson. A reminder of our good fortune. A reminder that we live. We live, Dr. Jackson, like those trees live. Those trees brought us back together, the few who survived. Those trees gave us back our sense of community, when for so long we lived like ... like primitive animals, fighting each other for the smallest scrap of food, the flimsiest shelter."

Naedjel raised his arm to point to the window as Daniel had moments earlier. "To cut even one of those trees would be like cutting our own flesh. We would all bleed."

Daniel was not convinced. "But you are killing your own history! There has to be enough dead wood, enough fallen branches...."

"Indeed. Enough. Enough to help us in other ways. Charcoal for the forge. Building materials. Tools." He stepped back to the table and ran his hand tenderly across a cloth-bound tome. "Paper for our new books." He sighed. "One day, the books we choose to spare will be gone. When that day comes...."

Cor Naedjel closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as though in pain. Yet in an instant it was forgotten. He opened his eyes again, smiling at Daniel. "Thankfully, that day has not yet arrived."

He studied the younger man, his gray eyes radiating sincerity as though he understood Daniel's anguish, yet his continued argument made it clear he did not. "The books we burn lost their value long ago, Dr. Jackson. They tell stories of a life we can no longer even imagine. Indeed, there was a time when I might have agreed with you. I might have shared your desire to preserve our histories, even fictional ones. Many of those books were favorites of mine, many, many years ago, when I was a child. They were treasured classics filled with wild adventures, dramatic twists...."

Cor Naedjel's smile returned, broader than before. "My grandfather was able to feed my eager imagination when he read them to me. I could sense the places, the things those books described, actually seeing them through his eyes."

The elder laughed softly in the comfort of his reminiscence. Then abruptly, even the smile died. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "But it was not long before we all realized any value those books once held died with my grandfather, and the world no one but he could remember."

Taking a deep breath, he gave his attention back to Daniel. "We have found other books to value now, Dr. Jackson, books that help us to understand the lost sciences so we can better learn to provide and care for our growing community. And we have found our own tales to tell. The stories of this world, stories of how we created it out of the corpse of the old."

In an uncharacteristic twist, his visage grew harsh, revealing a fierceness Daniel had not seen in the old man before. "Those stories are the very crux of our existence, and I would jump into the flames myself rather than allow those precious tales to be lost. But the books you see out there...," an arm waved absently towards the back of the room, "at least they give us some value now, in feeding the flame."

Daniel closed his eyes in exasperated defeat. "We can help you with fuel, Cor Naedjel. Please. You have no idea what those books could teach you one day. There could be...."

"We value your help, Dr. Jackson." The smile was back, the sense of grandfatherly compassion. "Truly, we do. But you must give us time. We have been alone for many generations, yet only now are truly coming together. We are fledglings that have just begun to learn to fly. I would like to see where our wings will take us, looking ever ahead, and never behind."

Shocked by the naivete of the Cor's words, Daniel shot back with a fierceness of his own. "You are flying directly into the sun on wings made of wax."

Of course, the old man would not be familiar with the story of Icarus. But Daniel did not take the time to explain. "Think about what you're doing. Moving blindly ahead without benefit of the lessons of the past, especially when those lessons are right there in front of you...." Daniel curled his fingers slowly into a fist, grabbing something intangible from the empty air. He held that fist in front of the Cor's face, oblivious to the threatening image he was presenting. "You are gambling with people's lives. You could be heading towards disaster, Cor Naedjel. You could find yourselves facing ... a ... a tragedy that might otherwise be averted."

"We have already known tragedy. And we have survived. We are a strong and resilient species."

Daniel was arguing with a wall. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back in futility.

"In time," Cor Naedjel continued, "perhaps we can adjust some of our ways to yours, as need be. But for now, you must let us continue to learn who we are, what we are meant to be."

The elder smiled affectionately at Daniel. "Would it ease your heart if I found copies of my grandfather's treasures for your own collections?"

Would it ease his heart? Yes, he thought. But it wasn't enough.

There was nothing more Daniel could do here, nothing more he wanted to do. Of course, this was a perfect opportunity for field study, getting up close and personal with a civilization coming back from the ashes to completely redefine itself. But this was also a civilization that was refusing to learn from its own past, one that included the Goa'uld. The Cor's attitude was foolhardy at best, and one day could even prove deadly.

 

-3 -

 

Daniel pushed his chair away from the table and stood to stretch muscles grown tight from a long night of bitter contemplation. Perhaps it really was time for him to return to the SGC. Someone else could do this work. Everything was well under control here. Dr. Fraiser would be packing up soon herself, and taking the five-mile trek back to the gate. He should probably join her.

No. Make that definitely. He should definitely join her.

Daniel stared for a long while at the folder on the edge of the table. His weekly report. An airman would come to claim it soon. That airman, in turn, would give it to someone else, who would transport it to the Stargate and ultimately deliver it directly into the hands of General Hammond back at the SGC. Everything Daniel wrote in that report would go on record. There would be no turning back.

Before he could change his mind, he sat back down and opened the folder, hastily jotting down his decision.

That done, he rose once more and crossed to the window.

The street was quiet now, in this hour before dawn. But soon it would come alive again, filling with farmers on their way to the fields, street vendors setting up to sell their wares and craftsmen opening their cozy little shops. It really was an ideal setting. Calm. Tranquil....

Naive.

The creak and rattle of a wheeled cart caught Daniel's attention. He looked to the left, his eyes falling on a load of books in Den Gorrow's wheelbarrow. The massive yet child-like man was himself pushing the barrow determinedly up the street. Yesterday evening, when Daniel had first spied this wasteful - and in his eyes, criminal - action, it had been a teenage boy who had taken charge of the barrow. It was precisely the type of job that would be assigned to a youth or an apprentice - certainly not to a tradesman. Gorrow was a craftsman, not a laborer, and despite his obvious mental handicap, the man was an artist at the forge. There was no good reason for him to be pushing that barrow.

Daniel clenched his jaw angrily. Assigning Gorrow had to have been Naedjel's idea, done specifically to prevent Daniel from any sort of "rescue" attempt to save condemned tales. Though Den Gorrow never spoke, he always did as he was told. Very singularly focused, he would stop at nothing until he'd accomplished his task. Daniel had no hope to persuade that man to withhold even one book from the fire. And any sort of confrontation was clearly out of the question. Den Gorrow was not a man to mess with.

More frustrated than ever, Daniel turned away, already playing out in his mind what he would tell the general of his early return. He started back to the table, but a disturbance quickly drew him back. A single, raised voice attracted others, soon initiating a cacophony of angry taunts. The linguist couldn't make out any of the words, and there was little he could see from his angle. Still, it was clear a crowd had formed just beyond the fire, far enough away not to hamper Gorrow's efforts, but close enough to titillate Daniel's curiosity.

He hurried from the room, grabbing his jacket from a hook by the door and pulling it on between strides to shield him from the damp, pre-dawn air. The voices grew more distinct as he hurried down the long, deserted hallway and the even longer, emptier set of stairs. By the time he'd made it outside there was no question what was being said.

"Go home to your demons!"

"You don't belong here!"

"Traitor!"

"Filthy swine!"

"Get out!"

Shocked by the sudden change in temperament, Daniel saw Janet Fraiser standing with a group of SGC personnel on the front porch of her hastily established but well stocked infirmary in the building next store. He scrambled up the stairs to join them.

"So much for unity," he quipped, his eyes locked on the rear section of the angry mob.

The doctor shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I thought the whole idea of this community was to bring more outsiders in."

Still unable to see who or what was at the forefront of the crowd, Daniel let his attention wander back to the barrow. It was temptingly untended now, Den Gorrow's efforts focused on stirring the embers. How fast would Daniel have to be to snatch even one book before Gorrow noticed?

Subconsciously drawing his lower lip into his teeth, the linguist studied the stack and noticed something very much out of place. In the center of the barrow lay a cloth-bound book, unmistakably part of Cor Naedjel's new generation, one of the tomes the old man said he would throw himself into the fire to protect.

Daniel was too stunned to move at first, but quickly came back to his senses, placing one hand on the rail to anchor his impending launch from the porch. He wasn't quick enough. His eyes were still locked on the book when he saw a small hand steal it away.

"Dr. Jackson?" Janet asked, seeing his reactions. "Daniel? What is it?"

He ignored her, his eyes darting about as he searched for the child belonging to that hand.

There. Moving through the trees. It was a boy, no older than ten and dressed in drab, brown rags that gave a stark contrast to the brightly embroidered hat perched atop his head, it's garishly colorful design dominated by red cross-marks that stretched down from the brim in a thin, red fringe.

The boy's hat providing an easy target, Daniel hurried down the stairs, dimly aware of the Marines hastening to follow, but unwilling to take the time to explain. He was too curious about the boy. He simply followed the hat, remaining utterly oblivious to his surroundings until he found he had successfully skirted the crowd and was now granted the best "seat" in the house, standing almost directly behind the man who had drawn such hatred from Cor Naedjel's normally serene people.

For a moment Daniel almost could have believed the child had grown several feet in as many minutes, for the newcomer turned out to be a tall, fragile-looking man in brown rags and a bright, red hat.

"Dr. Jackson?" A slightly winded Janet Fraiser asked from behind him. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He was about to answer when a shifting breeze drew the man's words towards him. Giving his full attention now to those words, Daniel offered Janet only a soft, distracted, "I'm not really sure," before he took a few tentative steps forward.

"Broken?" He asked the stranger.

The man turned to face him. The crowd quieted.

"I'm sorry, did you say broken?" Daniel repeated. "Blood?"

The man's eyes grew wide. He nodded hesitantly. "Carak. Fata. Soro, kree !" He pointed deep into the trees. "Kree ! Kree !"

Daniel looked to Dr. Fraiser, recognizing her own startled expression.

"It sounds like he's speaking some kind of Goa'uld dialect," He offered in explanation.

Fraiser sighed. "That's what I was afraid you were going to say."

Turning back to the newcomer, Daniel asked, "do you understand me?"

The man vigorously bobbed his head up and down in answer, yet continued to speak exclusively in that odd dialect.

"He understands you perfectly well, Dr. Jackson."

The crowd parted to let a scowling Cor Naedjel through. "He can speak as we do, but his kind chooses not to."

"His kind?"

"They call themselves the Messengers. They believe they can call on angels to deliver them back to paradise."

"Angels?" A heavyset man beside Naedjel spat disgustedly. "Devils, more like!"

Another round of curses came from the crowd until the Cor held his hand high, effortlessly returning them to silence.

"They believe the tongue they speak is the only one those angels - or devils - will listen to, so they speak nothing else."

"Do you know what he's saying?" Daniel asked the elder.

"I do not." Nor would the Cor make any attempt to understand. His clipped answer and turned up nose made that quite clear.

Though bewildered by this colder, sterner Cor Naedjel, Daniel pressed on in the hope the elder's grandfatherly nature would re-emerge. "It sounds like there's been some sort of accident. Someone's been hurt. Badly. I think he came here to ask for help."

Looking to the newcomer for concurrence, Daniel was rewarded with more animated bobbing.

"Kree ! Kree !" The man repeated, his features lined with desperation as he pointed excitedly into the woods.

"He's come to the wrong place." Cor Naedjel decreed. "He'll find no help here. If he won't work with the community when we need him, I'll be damned if we'll help him now."

The tall man's arm fell to his side. His shoulders sagged noticeably. A moment later, he began a soft, mournful chant.

Daniel listened closely. One often repeated word sounded vaguely familiar.

"Death?" He asked.

The man gave one small, weary nod.

"Cor Naedjel," Daniel said softly, "I think the community is his last hope. Someone very close to him is going to die if we don't help."

"That is none of our concern," The elder said sternly. He waved his hands in a shooing motion directed at the tall man. "Now, go! Leave us! You are not welcome here!"

The stranger pleaded, but to no avail. Dejected, he turned from the crowd and took a step towards the trees.

"Wait!" Dr. Fraiser's urgent call pulled the stranger back around. Then, more softly so only Daniel could hear her, "I hope I don't regret this. Dr. Jackson, you don't really think these Messengers have any Goa'ulds among them, do you?"

He hesitated in consideration, finally deciding, "the dialect is too unique. If there were a Goa'uld around, I don't see how it would let it's language devolve like that."

"You're sure?"

He cocked his head, admitting, "no. But it does make sense."

Janet studied the desperate man. "I wish we could wait for Sam or Teal'c, but it doesn't look like that's an option."

She cleared her throat and raised her voice to make sure her intent was made very clear to Cor Naedjel, though her words were still directed to Daniel. "Ask him where his friend is, how far, and try to get a better idea what happened so I know what to bring."

Cor Naedjel looked at her coldly. "You are not going with him?"

"Well, apparently someone has to, or someone is going to die. Maybe you can have that on your conscience, but I can't."

Daniel looked at the petite doctor, a small smile drawing up the corners of his lips.

 

-4 -

 

The tall man, who revealed his name to be Pa'lok, began to lead them along a narrow trail that wove its way through the trees in a complicated pattern Daniel knew he'd never be able to retrace. Fortunately, he could leave that particular problem to the four Marines who accompanied them, two of whom took point with Pa'lok while the other two stayed to the rear, keeping Daniel and Fraiser sandwiched between them and thus well protected.

Daniel appreciated the company. Hours into the hike, their destination remained as elusive as the tales of Naedjel's grandfather. The linguist pondered the puzzle of the new-generation book Cor Naedjel's community had been prepared to burn. Part of him wanted to praise the red- hatted Messengers as protectors of the written word. Yet another part couldn't help but distrust these apparent outsiders. They spoke only Goa'uld - or a form of the Goa'uld language anyway. How did they learn it in the first place? And what other knowledge did they posses that Cor Naedjel would rather see forgotten?

A tingle of excitement electrified Daniel's hopes as he considered the possibility that Pa'lok would lead him to the information he'd been seeking since arriving on this planet. Yet that tingle quickly gave way to dread.

And so it had gone for the past three hours. Daniel faced such a continuous battle between anticipation and apprehension, he barely noticed the physical discomforts of the hike.

"Please tell me we're almost there."

Janet Fraiser's winded plea reminded him of the oppressive nature of this planet's stifling, summer heat. The damp, cool morning had quickly given way to a hot, sticky afternoon that plastered his tee-shirt to his chest as though it were a second layer of skin, and wedged itself so deep into his sinuses he could barely breathe. He inhaled sharply through his mouth as he caught up with the doctor on the trail ahead of him. She'd stopped beside the thick trunk of an immense shade tree, and was now reaching for her canteen.

"Now that's...." Daniel hadn't realized how winded he was himself until he tried to speak. He leaned against the tree before continuing with his own breathless "... a good idea."

Uncapping his canteen and raising it to his lips, he tilted his head back for a long swallow - but stopped his hand before the water flowed. Something had moved in the branches above him.

A breeze? Impossible. The forest was as still as a tomb.

"Janet," he said cautiously.

She didn't answer, but he felt her eyes upon him. He knew they followed his, moving up to inspect the now motionless branches.

Daniel shifted his gaze towards the men who had been a persistent presence behind him - or rather, towards where they should be. For the first time since leaving the village, there was no sign of them. He swallowed, then slowly turned to the men at point. They, too, had seemed to vanish.

Daniel's heart pounded in his throat. It was time to run. He didn't know where to. He didn't know what from. He just needed to run. He reached his hand out to grab the doctor and pull her along with him.

Before he could touch her, she stiffened and went limp.

Time stilled as she dropped lifelessly to the ground. It was a nightmare playing out in dreaded, helpless slow motion. He was too late. Too late to help her. Too late to help himself.

Looking back to the branches, he caught a glimpse of red fringe before he felt something thin and sharp piercing his shoulder. Darts, he realized as his own body began to go limp. Just like the tribes in....

The thought died, incomplete, as he spiraled into the clutches of oblivion.

 

* * *

 

Plodding down the corridors of the SGC en route to the general's office, Jack O'Neill was edgy. Something didn't feel right. He had never been one to put much stock in feelings, yet nor could he ignore them. After all, feelings were instinctive, and in the field, instincts could mean the difference between living and dying. Okay, so prowling the halls of the SGC didn't exactly classify as field work. His instincts didn't seem to care. They were telling him to be on full alert.

"Hey, Carter." Seeing his second-in-command enter the corridor ahead of him seemed to kick the warning bells into double time. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. But he wasn't about to unleash his unwarranted concerns on the major.

"So, how's that analysis coming along?" He asked with as casual an air as he could muster, while his hands clutched into fists buried deep in his pockets.

She nodded. "Pretty good, sir. Unity, or whatever they used to call P97-654, was more advanced than we are now, before the Goa'uld destroyed them. But I wouldn't put them too far ahead of us. We found what appears to be the database for a newspaper of some kind. I think we'll be able to access those files within the next few days."

Somehow, that didn't seem good enough. "Good," he replied with a distracted nod. "That's ... good."

When he turned away to continue his trek to see Hammond, he knew Carter hadn't been fooled. He could feel her eyes watching his back as she tried to mentally process whatever had just happened. But maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Maybe his obvious disappointment would inspire her to turn those few days into a few hours instead; which maybe could help her to give him some information that might just help to explain his growing tension.

Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly, too.

He blew out a rush of air and increased his pace. By the time he walked through Hammond's door, he knew he would be wasting his time trying to hide a sense of anxiety that had already become palpable enough to need its own chair beside him at the general's desk. But it was Jack's time to waste.

"General!" He greeted with a too large smile. "So how are you on this fine, spring morning?"

When he was granted one of Hammond 's patented confused looks, at least part of that smile became real.

"It's the middle of the afternoon, Jack, and the middle of winter I might add."

"Ah. Well. Down here, sir, it's all pretty much the same."

A quick shake of Hammond's head erased the moment with all the effectiveness of an Etch-A-Sketch. "Colonel, we need to talk about P97-654."

Bingo. Jack's pulse began to race. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"I just received the latest reports."

"So how is Daniel enjoying his little vacation in Unity? Read any good books, lately?"

The General's responding glare was not a good sign. "You tell me, Colonel."

Taking the folder Hammond passed to him, Jack skimmed over two pages of boring notes before finding the information that had obviously sounded the general's own warning bells. He clenched his jaw subconsciously as he read Daniel's final, scribbled note requesting a replacement. If Daniel was giving up, something was very rotten in Denmark.

Jack swallowed a dictionary's worth of curses and took a deep breath before answering curtly, "you see, General? I knew I didn't trust that Cor Nigel guy. I...."

"There's something else, Jack. After that report was written, Captain Porter submitted one of his own."

Opening another file, Hammond gave his attention to its pages, explaining what they contained. "Porter says that Dr. Jackson and Dr. Frasier both left the village to assist one of the so-called `outsiders'. Apparently there had been an accident, and these people needed Dr. Frasier's help."

Jack did not like the sound of that at all. "They left the village, sir?"

The general raised one hand in a calming gesture. "Under an escort of four Marines. Nonetheless, Porter's report concerns me. He claims the man who came looking for help spoke some sort of Goa'uld language."

"Goa'uld ?" Jack's eyebrows shot up as his internal alarms increased in timbre.

"Two of Porter's men overheard a discussion between Dr. Jackson and this outsider. Apparently, the language the man used was a derivation of a Goa'uld dialect, which Dr. Jackson suggested probably developed to its current state without involving the direct presence of a Goa'uld."

"Okay." Jack nodded slowly. "That's encouraging. I think."

Hammond set the report back on his desk and gave Jack his full attention. "Jack, that conversation also proved Cor Naedjel has in fact been hiding information, just as Dr. Jackson's report claims."

"What kind of information?"

"This outsider was said to be part of some sort of alternate, organized culture, a group that calls themselves Messengers. Cor Naedjel's people refuse to acknowledge them, so much so that until now they've managed to keep their existence hidden from us. They won't even allow these Messengers into the village."

Jack could imagine Daniel salivating to find out more about this new sub-culture. What better way than to follow them into god-knew-where?

Dammit, Daniel. One of these days you're going to jump too far and too fast for us to save your sorry butt. Jack glanced at the chair beside him, half expecting to see a fully formed Mr. Anxiety smiling back at him. Still, there was more to this story than Daniel's insatiable hunger for knowledge. Jack looked back at the general. "I thought Unity was supposed to be all about pulling people together."

"So did I."

"General, I request permission to...."

"Already done, Colonel. Get your team together. SG-1 should be prepped to leave at 2100 hours."

"Thank you, sir."

When Jack rose, it felt like an entire army of Mr. Anxieties followed him out the door.

 

\- 5 -

 

Daniel turned to his side only to find the motion blocked by the rounded edges of his bed. His bed? How had it become so small? Even smaller than the bunks at the SGC, this was more of a cot really. It was barely wide enough to contain him.

Where was he? Certainly not at home. Definitely not at the SGC. Then where?

Red hats....

The image of a boy and a tall man began to form out of the remnants of fading dreams, as reality reasserted itself into his awareness.

Red hats!

His mind replayed those last moments on the forest trail. Red fringe. Swaying branches. Dr. Fraiser collapsing just beyond his reach   
....

He came awake in an instant, a sudden rush of adrenaline pumping him into a frenzied panic.

Where was he?

His eyes flew open to an assault of colors. There were dozens of them, every hue, every shade, all far richer than most natural dies could achieve. Natural dies from Earth, he corrected. These were gaudy and clashing and hideous as they whirled about him.

He had to close his eyes to recover from a wave of dizziness before reorienting himself.

Okay, not just colors. Tapestries. There were at least two large tapestries tented around him, creating the effect of a small, private room. Each was stitched from brightly colored threads without forming any discernable pattern. Yet something about the shapes of those colorful swirls and angles was familiar....

There. The Earth symbol, though it was somewhat lopsided and missing the circle at its apex. And there, the symbol for this planet, similarly askew and incomplete. Panic giving way to fascination, Daniel realized the entire tapestry was nothing but a hodge-podge design mixing gate symbols with hieroglyphs and pictographs, jumbling them all together with no continuity whatsoever.

Any doubt he might have had about the absence of Goa'ulds was erased. The artist had obviously borrowed the designs from somewhere, having no idea what they represented.

Had Pa'lok's dialect been borrowed as well? Daniel's thoughts went back to the barrow of books. Could the Messengers even read the texts they stole?

He had a lot of questions for Pa'lok to answer - most importantly, why had the Messengers attacked them on the trail?

Anger quickly took over where curiosity left off. It was time for Daniel to find out what had happened to Dr. Fraiser, Lieutenant James, and the other men who'd accompanied them.

He rose quickly - too quickly. His head protested the reckless action with a sharp, agonized pounding at the base of his skull. Doubling over, he sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his hands around his head.

When a light breeze stirred his hair, Daniel could tell that someone had entered his small space. The feel of a warm body coming to stand beside him was unmistakable. Yet he didn't dare raise his head to look, not until the pounding subsided. Anxiety over whether he was about to meet with friend or foe only served to sharpen his pain. Fortunately, the soft voice of a woman eased that ache, though her poorly spoken Goa'uld words still managed to fire up his migraine-weakened nerves. He clenched his teeth angrily, not bothering to respond.

She repeated her question or statement, or whatever it was she'd said.

Daniel knew he couldn't sit through a third try. His answer came without looking up. "I know you can speak my language. I would appreciate it if you would."

A long moment passed in silence before she crouched down beside him, whispering in his ear, "it is forbidden."

Daniel loosened the grip he'd held on his throbbing skull. He turned to face her. "Why?"

She would not meet his gaze. Her eyes darted about the small room before coming to rest on the ground. "We must speak the language of the gods. We do this so you will recognize our devotion and speak in our favor."

"Me?"

He watched as her eyes made the slow journey back to his. Brown pools so like Sha're's, they widened before learning to accept his scrutiny.

"You, who came through Heaven's Gate."

Daniel dropped his head again, this time in frustration. He wanted to tell her she was speaking a language more suited to demons than gods. He wanted to tell her he was not one of the angels she and the other Messengers were hoping to reach. But he knew she would not understand. Not yet.

"Where are my friends?" He asked instead.

She rose. "Pa'lok."

When he looked up, she pulled the tapestry aside and motioned for him to follow.

 

* * *

 

Jack's anxiety followed him back to the planet and kept close company on the long hike back to Unity. Carter's conversation along the way didn't help. Though she had managed to miraculously turn those precious few days she'd said she needed to access the newspaper's computer files into the few hours Jack had hoped for, the information she came up with was disturbing. There wasn't much left in the way of old files. Somehow the Goa'uld had planted viruses or worms in the computer systems, tacked onto cryptic messages written with Goa'uld symbols.

"I doubt the people on the planet even knew what the messages said," Carter offered. "At least not in the beginning."

In the beginning? That spurred Jack's interest. "How long were the Goa'uld there?"

"We haven't fully deciphered the date codes used, but my best guess is that at least twenty-five months passed between the first messages we've found, and the last ones the computer recorded."

"They were here for two years, and no one put up a fight?"

Teal'c glanced his way as they pressed forward, then took up the explanation. "The earliest messages are a request for alliance, sent by Satarh, a lesser system lord I do not recognize. They include threats about an unnamed enemy, against whom Satarh promised to protect the people of this planet."

Jack was doubtful. "In return for...?"

"Hosts."

"That's what we think, anyway," Carter added to Teal'c's confident reply. "Satarh said he needed volunteers to help with his fight. We can only assume he expected to use them as hosts."

"Volunteers," Jack repeated softly. "There's a new one. So what ended up finally pissing him off? Did they wise up?"

"Apparently after arriving on the planet," Teal'c continued, "a Jaffa priestess' larval Goa'uld matured into a queen. She emerged in secret, and built a following from among the people here. She tried to turn them against Satarh. When her plot became known to him, he ordered her to destroy this planet as punishment."

"Does this Queen have a name?"

"She refers to herself as Ralnet."

"Rah what?"

"Teal'c told me Ralnet is a derivation of a Goa'uld word used to identify the color red."

Jack raised an eyebrow at Carter's explanation. "Sounds like you've both been hanging around with Daniel way too much. Okay, so we have a queen who calls herself Red. What else?"

"Well," Carter started, "we did find a few excerpts in standard text that referred to her as the Blood Queen. Now, that may be due to the closeness of her name to the Goa'uld term for red, or..." She shrugged.

"Or because she was so bloody successful in destroying the planet?"

"Right. Except she wasn't really successful."

"Excuse me?"

Rather than replying herself, Carter looked at Teal'c.

"A successful Goa'uld attack would not have left survivors." He answered stoically, his eyes never leaving the trail.

Jack was sure he saw the Jaffa 's jaw tighten. "Okay. So. So what? She was careless."

"Or cunning." Teal'c stopped unexpectedly, his gaze firmly locking on Jack.

"Could you maybe run that by me again? I must've missed something."

"I believe we must prepare for the possibility that Ralnet intended to return to this planet."

Jack's mouth opened and closed in a lousy imitation of some scum-sucking fish until he realized what he was doing and clamped his jaw shut. He didn't like what he'd just heard. He didn't like it one bit. But he couldn't find an argument. Shaking his head, he turned to Carter.

She didn't help him. Curling her upper lip, she was clearly unhappy but not in disagreement with Teal'c's suggestion. "Based on Captain Porter's report about the Messengers and the data we've obtained from that computer, I think we have to at least consider the possibility that she saved a certain number of inhabitants in order to have a guaranteed stock of hosts later on."

"What? She's saving for a rainy day?"

"Maybe, sir, yes."

"Great. That's just ... great. So ... anyone hear the latest weather report?"

 

\- 6 -

 

Daniel was led down a narrow, mat-strewn walkway through a veritable village of tented structures. Guided by torchlight, he lost his sense of time and was surprised when a glance at his watch revealed no more than six hours had passed since the encounter in the forest. Night could not have fallen so quickly, yet there was only blackness beyond the fires' reach. He saw no sky above him. No sun. No stars. Nor could he hear the whispered sound of swaying trees.

Were they still outside?

A musty dampness in the air seemed to give the answer. There was a thickness to it, a sense of confinement. He hadn't done much spelunking in his lifetime, yet he'd done enough to recognize the feel of a cavern. This village was deep inside the earth, sheltered from storms, wars and prying eyes. Daniel wondered whether Cor Naedjel and the other residents of Unity had any idea where this place was - or even if they cared to know. And if they didn't know, would Teal'c's keen sense of tracking be able to locate it?

Okay, let's not think like that. He pushed the thought away. The darts may have been used only as a precautionary tactic intended to protect the village from unwanted intruders. It was too early to suggest he might need rescuing.

Then why couldn't he shake a feeling of dread?

Studying the tents as a means of distraction, Daniel saw the hodge-podge pattern carried through in more than just the design of individual tapestries. In fact, there were a variety of fabric types, some of which must have been made before the Great Purge, their dyed designs too reminiscent of mass production.

"Pa'lok, kree."

Daniel would never have imagined the word "kree " could be spoken so timidly. He turned a curious eye on his guide, watching her come to a stop in front of a massive tapestry. She said nothing further. Instead, she set her back against the fabric and lowered her head in subservience. He'd seen the posture before. Finished with her duty, she no longer had a reason to stay within his sight, yet nor could she dismiss herself from his presence. It would be up to Daniel to release her - and he just didn't have it in him to play king just then.

Taking a deep breath, he puffed it out in resignation and spun around, trying to determine what he was supposed to do next, where he was expected to go. It seemed they'd come to the end of the road. The tapestry behind the woman extended into the black heights above and stretched out to either side as though to infinity, the light from the torches unable to reach its edges. The effect was unnerving, particularly given the continued, garish use of color. Daniel felt his skin tingle in reaction. His head still pounding from whatever drug had been used in the darts and the sudden manner in which he'd come awake from its effects, he fought back a growing wave of nausea from the ongoing assault to his senses.

He closed his eyes to steady himself, taking a few more deep breaths of the stale air, then promptly sneezed as a variety of molds countered his latest dose of antihistamines. It was enough to make him wonder once more how much time had been stolen from him. Had it been six hours or eighteen? He glanced again at his watch, this time concerned only with the date it registered. The nineteenth. A sigh of relief calmed his racing heart.

Feeling that he'd regained some control, Daniel eased his eyes back to the fabric wall in front of him and noticed a line where the wild pattern went askew - or at least more insanely askew than what might be considered normal. If there was an opening anywhere nearby, surely that must be it. He reached forward. His fingers grasped the fold - until someone on the other side pushed it back towards him.

Daniel pulled back his hand, cringing in nervous frustration. This wasn't helping his headache at all. Yet despite the wild beat of his heart, the agonized pounding in his head and the anger festering from both, Daniel still managed to utter a quick, "uh, hello," to the muscle-bound man who appeared in front of him.

He shouldn't have bothered. He received no response. Like the woman, this man refused to meet Daniel's eyes. Clad only in a pair of rough, brown trousers, he bowed slightly and stepped aside, holding the cloth back in silent invitation.

Daniel hesitated, studying first the man, then the room beyond. What little he could see was unimpressive. As he would expect, hideous tapestries lined the rear-most confines of the room, perhaps fifteen meters from where he stood. Also as expected, reed mats lined the floor. Only one slight difference between that room and the hall he'd just traversed was evident from his current perspective. Fat pillows sat atop the mats at uneven intervals, their own patterns and colors at war with the tapestries.

"Kree." The doorman's harsh voice, so different from Daniel's female guide, made the linguist's pulse jump. This was how he was used to hearing that word spoken. Move! Move now! Daniel much preferred the woman's version.

It was a struggle to avoid shuddering. The man was not a Jaffa. There was no mark on his forehead. More telling, there was no pouch in his exposed stomach. And Daniel still believed no Goa'uld could be present. But how much of the Goa'ulds ' ways might these people have adopted?

Tossing one last look at the Jaffa wannabe, Daniel stepped through the opening. Though the immediate area was deserted, he spotted a group of people clustered together far to the right, almost beyond the reach of the light. Clearly noticing Daniel at the same moment, three men in brown rags and red hats removed themselves from the cluster and came towards him. The rest, all women, faced his way but remained where they stood, their heads held down as though they'd found something fascinating on the floor. They seemed to be shielding something, a platform of some kind; yet whatever lay atop it was too red to conceal. Already overloaded with questions, Daniel had to know what it was. He moved deeper into the room, but was blocked after only a few steps when Pa'lok and the two men with him hastily kneeled in his path.

"Sha'vak ro. Ka'rak, kree."

Daniel clenched his jaw against the grating sound of the abused words and his own frustration for the obstacle the men represented. He opened his mouth to chide them into speaking normally when he noticed the women slowly moving away from the platform and into the blackness beyond.

His impending tirade forgotten, he skirted around the kneeling men, ignoring them entirely. Whatever was on that platform held all of his interest.

Within a few steps it became obvious the object was a human figure. Whoever it was wore neither the brown rags of the Messengers, nor the fatigues of the SGC. No. This person was dressed in a bright red cascade of robes.

Convinced he was facing a leader of the Messengers, Daniel steeled himself for an argument, squaring his shoulders and quickening his steps. Any argument would do. Where were his friends? Why had they been attacked in the woods? And for god's sake, why did they have to use the Goa'ulds ' language - and use it so badly at that?

But Daniel's mood changed abruptly when he saw the face.

"Janet?"

Anger gave way to fear when he saw how still she was. Jogging to her side, he placed two fingers at her neck, relieved at the feel of a strong, steady pulse.

"Janet?" He called out again, giving her shoulder a gentle shake.

Her eyes fluttered open as she began to stir, her mouth working groggily. "Dr. Jackson? What...?"

Expecting her to rise as he had, he kept his hand on her shoulder, gently pressing down. "Um, don't get up too fast."

"Headache?" She asked knowingly.

He smiled. "Ah, yeah."

"Thanks for the warning." She closed her eyes, and took several deep, controlled breaths. "Can you tell me what's going on here?"

"Uh, no. Not really. Not ... yet, anyway."

"Sha'vak ro," Pa'lok said again, appearing at Daniel's side.

Daniel turned to face the man, his frustration returning. "Please. Speak in this language." His hands already chopping at the air in emphasis, he ended up pointing to his own mouth. "This one; the one I'm using now."

The tall man took a long while considering Daniel's request. "It is the language of the gods," he said finally, clearly disturbed. He spoke slowly, seeming unused to the sound of his own words. "Yet you do not wish us to speak it?"

"It is not...," Daniel caught himself. Not yet. "Where did you.... How did you learn that language?"

"From the sacred texts."

"Sacred texts?" Daniel's interest was instantly piqued.

Pa'lok nodded.

"Can I see these texts?"

Pa'lok exchanged concerned glances with his companions. Yet when he turned back to Daniel, his eyes were hopeful, almost yearning. "It is true, is it not?" He asked. "My son, Mal'chok, he watched you ...in ... in the village. He is convinced you are the ones."

"The ones?"

Pa'lok nodded, but did not answer further.

Okay, let's try another angle. "Mal'chok ?" Daniel asked as his mind revisited the moments leading up to his first meeting with Pa'lok. "Is that the boy? The boy who took the book from the wheel barrow in Unity?"

Another nod. "He said it would draw you."

Daniel's eyebrows shot up at the admission. "That book was bait?"

It was not a pleasant thought. He imagined himself to be some stupid fish scrabbling after a rubber worm.

"Well, I guess it worked, didn't it?" He chided himself softly. "Silly me. Here I thought I was solving the mysteries of the universe."

Turning his attention back to Pa'lok, he considered the chain of events during those last moments in Unity. "The accident, your dying friend, that was bait too, wasn't it?"

A sheepish nod.

"But why?"

"You are the Holy Scribe, are you not?"

"Holy? Um, no. I don't think s...."

"It was prophesied. The Holy Scribe will reveal to us the wishes of the Red Queen, so one day she will find us worthy again, and return to us."

"The Red Queen?" Was Daniel trapped in some warped fairy tale? Alice in Wonderland meets the Goa'uld ? He was wondering how he might make himself wake up when he heard Janet behind him.

"What on earth am I wearing? How...?"

Daniel turned to find Janet inspecting the brocade work on her red garments, her hand working it's way through a slit near her abdomen. The Red Queen. "Ho ... boy."

 

\- 7 -

 

Jack O'Neill was in no mood for the Cor's evasiveness. His team had arrived back at the village only moments after Doc Fraiser's Marine escort. And there was one problem: the escort returned without its charges. Both Daniel and Dr. Fraiser were MIA.

Naedjel was beside himself trying to explain how he and his villagers had tried to prevent the good doctor's little expedition, but Jack had already heard more than enough.

"Just can the excuses here, okay?" He demanded, waving his hand emphatically. "These Messengers you didn't bother to tell us about before, who are they, exactly?"

Naedjel glared back indignantly. "They are a misguided band of miscreants who seek to destroy what we seek to build."

"How?"

"By slipping their poisoned words into our cherished books," the Cor spat. "By saying their vile words in our presence. By...."

"Okay, we get it. You don't like their language. Well neither do I. There, believe it or not we've got something in common. But that still doesn't tell me who they are."

"They are believers in the past."

"Excuse me?"

"They look to the past to guide them, while we look to the future."

"That's it? That's why you don't like them?"

"Colonel O'Neill, you have seen what our past brought upon us. There is no hope in yesterday. Nothing matters now but tomorrow."

Jack inhaled another wave of frustration while Teal'c took up his side of the discussion. "Do you not believe you can learn from your past, in order to build a more stable future?"

"You would have us build on a foundation of suffering? On a foundation of weakness and destruction?"

"Indeed. To learn from your misfortunes may prevent them from recurring."

"You sound very like your Daniel Jackson."

Jack saw Teal'c incline his head as though honored by the comparison, and gave his Jaffa friend a sideways look. "Yeah," He said to the Cor, "about Daniel. Where is he?"

"He is with the Messengers."

"We got that already. So where is he?"

"I do not know and I do not care to know where my brother resides."

"Woah. Back up. Your brother?"

Sighing heavily, Naedjel seemed irritated about having to respond. "He is their leader, the one they follow." The Cor turned his head to meet Jack's determined gaze, revealing a determination all his own. "He is also quite insane."

 

* * *

 

After inviting his two honored guests to join him at a low, wooden table beyond the platform, Pa'lok clapped his hands twice, evidently cueing a woman to slip out of the shadows and present them with a bowl of fruit. Another followed with a jug of wine, and so on, until the table was nearly over-loaded with food and drink.

Daniel's eyes swept the offerings. All he really wanted was a good dose of caffeine to drive away his persistent headache. Coffee was preferable, but chocolate would do. Unfortunately, neither was a possibility at the moment. He turned his attention to Pa'lok.

"Tell me more about these prophecies."

"We have devoted our lives to serve the gods, and speak their...."

"They are not gods." Daniel was really missing that caffeine. He took a deep breath before continuing. "The Goa'ulds are the ones who destroyed your planet. They murdered your people."

Pa'lok focused his attention on Janet, though he refused to look at her face, his eyes remaining oddly downcast. "We are shamed by the actions of our ancestors. We seek forgiveness for their betrayal."

"From us?" Janet was as confused as Daniel, but for obviously different reasons.

"What?" His question immediately followed hers. "Betrayal? They tried to fight the Goa'ulds. They tried to save themselves."

Still Pa'lok did not turn away from Janet. "The gods came to save my people from their own foolish ways. Our ancestors should not have fought. They should have recognized the gift, and accepted it willingly."

"Gift? Gift?" Daniel looked around the table, studying these would-be slaves of the Goa'uld. They truly had no idea what the Goa'uld were. They couldn't possibly know.

"Pa'lok," Janet intervened, "where are our friends? The men who traveled with us?"

"They are unharmed," the tall man answered.

"But where are they?"

"By now they are surely on their way back to Unity."

"You left them in the forest?"

"Yes."

"You only brought the two of us here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Pa'lok lowered his head further, in the gesture of a quick, deep bow, and finally turned away. He clapped his hands high in the air, his eyes trained once again on the shadows. A moment later, a brown-robed man appeared, his arms cradling one of the hand-made, cloth-bound books such as Naedjel had treasured in Unity. Pa'lok took it reverently, and presented it to Daniel.

"Sha'vak ro."

Daniel shook his head. "I don't understand."

Pa'lok raised the book, forcing Daniel to acknowledge it. "Sha'vak ro."

Belatedly accepting the offering, Daniel opened it to the first page. He saw immediately that the alphabet was common, yet the words were strange, meaningless. He shook his head again and was ready to pass the tome back to Pa'lok, until he spotted something familiar. Sounding a few of the words out loud, he realized the book was written to represent the language of the Goa'uld despite its lack of Goa'uld symbols.

"How?" He asked.

"Sha'vak ro," Pa'lok repeated.

"Sha'vak ro ?" Daniel whispered back. "Sha'vak ro."

He studied the first page, his fingers skimming over the words as he soundlessly mouthed what he believed was the intended pronunciations. It was difficult. There was no uniformity of spelling, and the breakdown of sentences and paragraphs was inconsistent. No grammatical rules appeared to have been applied at all. But then he found it.

"Sha'vak ro ...." He looked up at Pa'lok. "Sha'vak wrote this? A man named Sha'vak ?"

Pa'lok nodded animatedly.

Daniel held back a frustrated response. Now they were butchering two languages. No, he told himself. That wasn't fair. They are a society that has developed its own unique dialect. He should be intrigued rather than disturbed by that fact. He took a deep breath. "What did Sha'vak use to write this?" He asked Pa'lok. "How did he learn the words?"

The tall man shrugged, apparently confused the question had been asked. "From the angels."

"Of course," Daniel sighed. "What was I thinking."

He turned a few more pages, sharing his thoughts softly with Janet as they came to him. "Well, I'm more convinced than ever that he didn't learn the language directly from the Goa'uld. It's possible he learned it somehow through a form of story telling, where everything was verbal, based on sound rather than writing. When something like that is passed down from generation to generation it tends to mutate along the way. That would explain why this is so poorly written, so misunderstood."

He raised his eyes from the book to Pa'lok. "Who is Sha'vak ?"

The tall man shared glances with his companions before bringing his hands together as though in prayer. He bowed his head, muttering a quiet chant. "Sha'vak," he repeated finally, giving his attention back to Daniel. "The Wise One. The one to whom the angels speak. The Prophet."

"The angels speak to him? You know this to be true."

A timid nod was the only reply.

"How? Where? Can you take us to him?" Daniel could feel Janet tensing beside him.

Pa'lok lowered his head. "It is forbidden," he answered in a frightened whisper.

"Forbidden? Why?"

"Sha'vak sees no one," came a new voice, from the front of the room.

Looking over his shoulder, Daniel saw the newcomer was Mal'chok, Pa'lok's son - the boy who'd stolen the book in Unity and thus set the bait that had so effectively brought them here.

"But he will see the holy ones," Mal'chok continued, waving a parchment excitedly over his head.

Confused, Daniel turned back to the boy's father. "The holy ones?"

Pa'lok met Daniel's gaze now with an expression of awe. "The Holy Womb," he whispered emphatically, "from which the gods return. And the Holy Scribe, the vessel of truth. Sharra, kree !" That last was said in an urgent shout. In an instant, Pa'lok's head was down again, this time all the way to the table, as he lay prone, his hands stretched out before him despite the plates and bowls that lay in their path.

Daniel was shocked to realize Pa'lok had barely taken that pose when everyone else in the room followed suit, all hands now reaching in the direction of Daniel and Janet. He knew he shared her look of bewilderment. "Wait," he said then, "you don't mean...?"

"Us?" Janet finished when he found himself unable to.

 

\- 8 -

 

* minor warning: gruesome violence inferred, but not detailed

 

"Shaevjek was my older brother," Cor Naedjel went on to explain, finally realizing Jack would give him no other choice. "He listened, as I did, to our grandfather's stories. But he believed them, while I knew them to be works of fiction. One day he chose to seek the truth in them, to prove that truth to the rest of us. He went into the old city, and did not return home for many months. We thought him dead."

Jack gave the man a confused glare. "Here's a thought. Why didn't your grandfather just tell you both whether his stories were true or not?"

"Because our grandfather no longer knew." Naedjel watched Jack's brows rise in consideration, and he nodded in response. "That's right. His mind became twisted when his old world died. Everything was true to him, even such fanciful fairy tales as Shaevjek agreed must be false, like the goose and the diamond egg."

"Diamond?"

Turning to move to the window, the Cor paid no notice to Jack's question. "But Shaevjek did come home one day. He came home. Yes. But he was no longer Shaevjek."

A long silence prodded Jack to break it; yet as soon as he opened his mouth, the Cor continued, his eyes focused somewhere far beyond the tiny room. "That old city destroyed Shaevjek's mind as thoroughly as it had our grandfather's. Shaevjek came back with new stories, stories even more bizarre than the fairy tales. He told us about great silver birds that carried men across the skies. He told us those birds spewed forth great breaths of fire until the old cities were destroyed, birds that were ruled by serpents with glowing eyes. These serpents, said Shaevjek, were both man and snake. He told us they had eaten the hearts of the gods, and had learned great things in those feasts...." The Cor seeming to grow older by the minute, dropped his head and closed his eyes. "He slew our own grandfather."

As though to punctuate the explanation, Naedjel took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders to reach his full height and raising his head to meet his visitors' eyes. "Shaevjek killed him in order to feast on the old man's heart, because he wanted to learn as much as our grandfather knew about life in the old world."

Carter eyes widened. "Oh, wow. No wonder you don't want anything to do with the past."

Thinking beyond the obvious gruesomeness of the story, Jack cleared his throat. "Carter, we didn't find something there that could...?" He pointed to his temple, making circles with his finger.

"No." She shook her head. "There was nothing unusual in any of the samples, and the technologies are based on our own physics. But if their grandfather was, well...." She shrugged. "It's possible some type of dementia was hereditary."

"It'd be nice if we could ask Doc Fraiser now, wouldn't it? Help us out here, Cor, where are they?"

Carter's eyes grew wide again. "Colonel, you don't think Shaevjek would...?"

Jack belatedly followed her trail of thought, and sighed heavily, breathing a silent, Oy. "Nigel? What do you think your brother would want from Doc Fraiser and Daniel? You don't really think he'd want to, oh, I don't know, maybe learn something from them, now do you?"

The Cor met Jack's gaze. "I cannot say. But...." He glanced away briefly before continuing. "There is one within Unity who turned from the ways of the Messengers. Mordin does not believe Shaevjek to be capable of such a crime. He says the stories told of Shaevjek are as parables, meant to test the faith of the believers. He claims they are a peaceful people."

"Then why did he leave them?"

"Because he wanted to look ahead, as we do, and he despised living in the bowels of the world."

"Then he knows where they are?" Carter asked, surprised by the revelation.

Jack could only clench his teeth. I am so going to ring that man's neck. No wonder Daniel couldn't take it here anymore. How the linguist had lasted five weeks with these kinds of answers was way beyond Jack's feeble brain to comprehend. Five weeks. Why couldn't he have made it four? If he'd gone home just one week sooner...

Damn it, Daniel. Why do you have to be so damned patient?

 

* * *

 

Daniel and Janet were led deep into the heart of the caves. Far beyond the village of mats and tapestries, this section was adorned with nothing more than the rocks, stalagmites and stalactites of the planet itself. It was damp and dark without and within. Permeating Daniel's bones, the feeling gnawed away at his traditional armor of optimism. There was a familiarity about this place too, one that stirred an unwanted memory. He couldn't help but think of Cha'ka and the tribe of Unas ' that would have had him for supper if his team had not intervened.

Relax, he mentally chided himself. It's not like you're being dragged along at the end of a rope. Yet somehow that was precisely how he felt.

"Hold here," Pa'lok announced. "This is the Cora'hon, where we find the words of Sha'vak."

As they approached the entrance to yet another dark tunnel, the tall man motioned his guests to wait, his gestures making it clear he did not want them to proceed inside - though Daniel wasn't even sure they could if they'd wanted to. The entry was short and narrow, more suited to a tunneling animal than a man - a tunneling animal, or a very large snake.

Okay, Daniel chided himself again, your imagination is getting a little carried away here, don't you think? The only problem with that question was he still wasn't sure what to think.

He gave his attention back to Pa'lok, who had begun to make a series ritualistic gestures before the tiny entrance. After several deep, reverent bows, the tall man knelt to the ground, drawing Daniel's attention to the large, circular stone set in front of the dark opening.

Daniel focused on that stone. Having the appearance of a large plate resting atop an overturned bowl, it could almost be likened to an extremely small DHD, yet its surface had no markings and there was nothing to indicate any crystals resided within it. Moreover, the top of the stone was concave, as though the workings of this mini-DHD had been scooped out, and it had been polished smooth enough to reflect back some of the light cast off by the brands of the torchbearers. He was beginning to wonder how that might have been accomplished when Pa'lok dropped a piece of parchment onto it, and the stone started to move.

"Dr. Jackson," Janet said softly as it slid towards the maw of the tunnel, slowly disappearing into the blackness within, "where do you suppose the power for something like that would come from?" She was kneeling herself now, her hand brushing along the dirt in search of tracks or wires or anything else that might explain the movement, yet finding neither.

"I have no idea," came Daniel's slow reply. "But I'm really beginning to wish Sam were here."

"You too, huh?" She stood, brushing the dirt from her hands and readjusting the thick folds of her robes. "How about Sam, Teal'c, Colonel O'Neill and at least three teams of Marines?"

Daniel turned to their guide rather than answering. "Pa'lok, why are we here, exactly?"

"Sha'vak," was the only reply.

"Yes, so you keep saying. But what exactly is Sha'vak ?"

"He is the Wise One, the Prophet."

"But is he a man? A human being?"

The tall man seemed confused by the question. "He is the prophet," was his uncertain reply.

"Yeah, we got that, but...."

"Pa'lok," Janet tried instead, "what does Sha'vak look like?"

"I do not know."

"You ... what?" Daniel was stunned. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"No mere man has ever seen the Prophet."

Daniel shared a nervous glance with Janet, though his words were addressed to Pa'lok. "I thought you brought us here to see him."

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"It is as my son suggested. You are the holy ones. With that parchment, I gave Sha'vak my words to say that you are here. We now await his reply. If he allows you to see him, you will be the first in a generation."

"A generation?" Daniel repeated uncertainly.

"Dr. Jackson," Janet said, "this is really beginning to sound...."

A small grinding noise interrupted her, prompting them to watch quietly as the stone slid back to its original place bearing a new, crumpled piece of parchment. Only one word was written there, in large, bold letters: "come."

 

\- 9 -

 

Dusk had fallen, forcing a reluctant Jack O'Neill to call a halt to his weary team of rescuers. Even with a guide who was familiar with the path and an expert tracker like Teal'c, traipsing through the forest at night was never a good idea.

They started to set up camp beside a large oak-like tree, but Lieutenant James was not pleased with the selection. He'd spent too much time there already, when his team had been attacked by those tree-climbing tribesmen with tranquilizing darts Cor Naedjel hadn't bothered to warn them about. Just a few paces further up the path was a small clearing that would also suffice, perhaps even better than the tree. At least no one could sneak up - or should that be down? - on them in the middle of the night.

It really didn't matter where they settled in, however. They were all jittery, especially after hearing Naedjel's pal, Mordin, tell his story. Fortunately, he was a lot more forthcoming than the tight-lipped Cor. Unfortunately, his information didn't particularly promote optimism.

A dark-haired man with boyish features and permanent ink stains on his long-fingered, effeminate hands, Mordin had an extraordinarily average look about him - except within his eyes. There was a blackness there, as though a storm were brewing beneath his externally calm, undaunted demeanor. Jack had seen the look before. This was a man who'd lost his faith but not his passion. And that passion needed an outlet. Soon.

"I no longer believe in the teachings of the Prophet," Mordin said later as they gathered around the campfire.

"Why?" Carter asked. "What happened?"

He turned to her, giving her a long look and a sad smile before shifting his gaze to the empty cup in his hands. "I was a scribe," He replied frankly. "It was my duty to transcribe Sha'vak's words into a sacred text. "

"Sha'vak ?"

"Yes. That was his new name, the one he took when he started his new life. Cor Naedjel's brother decided it was more appropriately suited to his teachings of the ... angels," the man's jaw tightened around that one word before finishing, "than his given name."

"Angels, huh," Jack muttered softly. Though he was keenly aware of Mordin's growing anxiety, he made a strong effort to conceal his own unease. "That's a new one."

"Sometimes," Mordin went on as though Jack hadn't spoken, "it was difficult to know what was meant in Sha'vak's writings. He rarely wrote in complete sentences. It was left to us to decipher his meaning, to make the text readable. If we did not, then no one would understand." He sighed, setting the cup on the ground beside him. "This bothered me. I wanted to ask him his meanings rather than pretend to know them. But I was not allowed. No one was allowed to see him."

"Why's that?"

He shook his head. "I am not really sure. That is just the way we are taught it must be."

"Convenient," Jack considered aloud.

That sad smile turned Jack's way for a moment. "Perhaps. But do your kind always question what you are told must be? Do you do nothing purely for faith?"

Jack looked to Carter, who raised her eyebrows as though to say, he's got a point. Giving his attention back to Mordin, Jack cleared his throat. "No. We don't always question everything." But when another voice called out in his thoughts, the very young do not always do as they are told, he added a minor amendment. "Pretty damned often, but not always."

Mordin nodded, though Jack had no idea why. "One day," the scribe continued, "I came upon a message that disturbed me. We had always been a peaceful people, yet his new words had the sound of war."

"War?" Jack's concern flaring, he abandoned the cavalier facade, moving from carefree listener to full-fledged air force colonel in an instant. "Against whom?"

Mordin's dark eyes did not shy from Jack's new, demanding glare. "Against Unity," was the indifferent answer. "Or rather, Sha'vak's words implied an attack on the people, not necessarily the village. The words, I remember them quite well." His lids came down like shades. "Know more of Unity. Feast now. Taste the sinners red."

"I'm really hoping you're talking grapes, here."

The shades fluttered open. "Since the beginning, there have been stories about Sha'vak's eating the heart of his own grandfather."

"Oy," Jack whispered. "I was so hoping you weren't going there."

"We were taught it was a sacrificial rite, meant to purify him and to prepare him for his future as the Prophet. Since Sha'vak always taught peace, the stories increased the mystery around the man. I believe they made his prophesies that much more potent."

"And that story is what you thought of when you read his message?"

"Yes. How could I not?"

"Indeed," Teal'c added. "He spoke of a feast, and there is great similarity between the words red and blood in the Goa'uld language."

Jack turned his stern look on the Jaffa. "You really have to stop spending so much time with Daniel."

The interchange had no impact on Mordin, his attention drawn instead to the flickering glow of the campfire. "I could not merely accept my own belief for the meaning of those cryptic words. I found myself driven by the need to question. I could not remain quiet. I could no longer count upon my faith." He paused, the crackling embers hauntingly emphasizing the sudden silence until his next words seemed somehow louder than before.

"Despite the prohibitions," He continued, "I had to ask Sha'vak what his thoughts had been upon that writing. One night, when all were asleep, I went alone to the catacombs where he resides. I studied the Cora'hon, to find the way into his sacred chambers. After a long while, I found a lever hidden on the underside of the plated surface. There was a click. I thought perhaps I had broken something. But then ... It was the strangest thing. It ... it was as though the hands of a hundred angels came down and swept me up into the heavens. When next I opened my eyes, I was in an immense golden cavern that seemed to glow with its own phosphorescence."

"Ho-boy." This was sounding way too familiar.

"Then I saw him."

"Sha'vak ?" A little surprised Carter grabbed such an obvious cue, Jack looked at her and found himself hoping it really was that obvious.

Mordin nodded. "Yes. It was Sha'vak, the Prophet. But," the scribe shook his head, seeming confused. "He was nothing more than an old man, an ancient man, lying naked in a pile of ragged clothing. His hair was a long, white tangle of knots. His beard was equally long and equally tangled, with bits of food throughout. His smell was.... Well, he was dirty. Filthy, actually. His nails were black inside. And there was no meat on him. He was as fragile looking as a dried twig. I thought `this is no prophet'. Yet then I chided myself, still trying to hold to some part of my faith. I sought to wake him, but he would not stir. I decided to wait.

"I gave my attention to this golden haven, and I found a wondrous stack of writings he'd never shared with us. I sat back and began to read them. Mostly, they were letters, written to Cor Naedjel. He called the Cor `brother', which confused me greatly. For wasn't it known the people of Unity refused to be our brothers?"

Jack studied the man, who studied the fire during another long pause. Something about Mordin reminded Jack of Daniel. It was probably the insatiable need for answers, because it certainly wasn't the hair. Who else but Mordin - and Daniel - would go where they were forbidden to go, just because they had a few questions?

"In some of these letters," Mordin continued then, "Sha'vak begged his brother for forgiveness, and I wondered what need the leader of the sinners to forgive the Prophet? Yet in other letters Sha'vak seemed proud of what he had done, claiming a great triumph in swallowing his grandfather's wisdom. In all, Sha'vak acknowledged the story as true. He truly murdered his grandfather, and..."

Mordin's breaths were coming faster and shorter. With a short gasp he made an obvious attempt to slow them, and swallowed loudly. "I did not want it to be true. Yet somehow at the same time I needed to read more, to learn more. It almost felt as though I was trying to eat Sha'vak's heart. But it didn't matter. I couldn't stop myself.

"I kept reading and digging through this mountainous stack until I found some strange papers. They were oddly smooth, not at all like our parchments, and they had pictures on them, pictures that were as real as life. They were pictures of...." He closed his eyes briefly, as though to shut out the images.

"They were texts from the old world," He said finally, seeming to relax after the declaration had been made. "This was the knowledge Sha'vak had swallowed. And it was...," Mordin shook his head. "It was horrible. So much carnage. So much death. It was horrible. The text was written in the old language, but I was able to decipher much of it. Too much, I think. These things that were described... These things that happened... It was the devils' work, not the angels'. I no longer knew what to believe. I was so distraught, I never even noticed that Sha'vak had stirred until he stood before me and his eyes caught mine. He was laughing. Laughing."

Jack watched him across the fire for several long minutes. The boyish features seemed suddenly ancient. "What'd he do then?"

Mordin gave another shake of his head and a slight shrug. "Nothing. The hands of the angels swept me back into the caverns. And ... and when they were gone, I just started running. I didn't stop until I reached Unity."

"Did you tell anyone what you saw, what happened?" Carter asked.

"Who would believe me? Who would want to believe me? I didn't think I could believe myself anymore."

Carter touched his arm. "It is true, you know. All of it. That's why Daniel has been trying so hard to get Cor Naedjel to help him in his search of the past."

Mordin stared at her for a long while. "Yes. I know. I should not have kept silent. I should have insisted they hear me."

"Would it really have mattered?" Jack had to ask.

There was that sad smile again. "No. It would not."

"Yeah. I didn't think so." Jack took a quick look at the sky. He had the feeling it was going to be a very long day tomorrow. "Okay campers," He said more loudly, "we've got a busy day ahead of us, so how `bout we hit the hay?"

"Colonel O'Neill?" Mordin asked as the others began to climb into their tents. "The Messengers are a peaceful people, despite the Prophet's ... inconsistencies. Your friends will be well treated."

Jack sighed and looked down. "Yeah." He nudged the edge of a burning log with his booted foot, placing it closer to the center of the fire. "Let me ask you something." Satisfied the fire was safely contained, he gave his full attention back to Mordin. "Would you consider attacking people in the forest and kidnapping them ... Do you really think these are peaceful gestures?"

Mordin looked down, obviously shamed, and turned away, saying nothing.

"Yeah," Jack repeated, this time to no one but himself. "I didn't think so."

 

\- 10 -

 

Transport rings brought Daniel, Janet and Pa'lok's contingent into a vast, gilded, Goa'uld's chamber.

The linguist turned a slow circle, examining the inscribed walls surrounding them. "This ... is ... incredible."

"That's not quite the word I would have chosen," Janet replied guardedly beside him.

He turned to her, intending to say something to allay her fears. But a strange voice, sounding like a coffee grinder catching on a stone, left his thoughts unspoken.

"Rhe-hu, rhe-hu, rhe-hu."

The voice belonged to a skeletal, white-haired man who scampered out of a dark opening in the back of the room. Clad only in a thin, cloth tunic with a ragged sack slung over his shoulder, he hurried towards them on bare feet, flashing a toothless smile in greeting. "Rhe-hu, rhe-hu, rhe-hu," He repeated happily.

The language proved to be as strange as the voice. Daniel shook his head, confused. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"Rhe-hu ?" His smile fading, the old man's gray, clouded eyes darted searchingly across Daniel's features. Whatever he saw there, he didn't like it. "No, no, no, no, no," he pouted, dropping his gaze to give his full attention to his sack. He yanked it open and began to dig furiously through its contents, his brows drawn together in concentration. An occasional, softly muttered "Rhe-hu " came between puffs of exasperated breaths as a variety of unseen objects clinked and clattered against one another.

Exchanging a curious glance with Janet Fraiser, Daniel tried to start over. "I'm Daniel Jackson," he offered. But the man ignored him. Whatever he sought was apparently far more valuable to him than introductions.

A long moment later, the thin, leathery arms came abruptly still before beginning their slow journey back out of the sack. The old man's eyes glistened with new moisture and an odd smile lifted the long creases in his weathered face as he brought a Goa'uld hand device out of its cloth prison and into the chamber's golden light. "Rhe-hu," He whispered in obvious awe, reverently presenting the device to Janet.

Daniel saw the petite doctor tense, her posture reflective of her obvious desire to back as far away from the device as possible. Yet, in a familiar display of the strength he'd always known her to possess, she held her ground, still eying the thing warily. "Dr. Jackson?"

The man was practically forcing the device into her folded hands. "You might want to take it," Daniel suggested.

"Right." She sighed uneasily and tried to smile as she took the proffered item. She even gave a slight bow. "Thank you."

Yet her appreciation clearly did not meet with the old man's approval. "Rhe-hu." He repeated sternly.

Janet met Daniel's gaze with a raised brow, but the linguist truly had no idea what the old man expected in return. "I don't...."

"No, no, no, no, no," The man chided once more.

In a sudden, unexpected move, the wily old man grabbed Janet's arm, prompting a surprised gasp to escape her lips before she could re-establish her own defenses. "Please, I really don't...." But she could not pull away from him, could not prevent him from trying to fit the device onto her delicate fingers. He worked with the clumsy aggressiveness of an over-eager child desperate to get his mother to agree.

Disturbed by the display, Daniel gently placed his own hand over the old man's. "It won't work."

But once again he was ignored.

"She can't use it." Daniel said more loudly, pressing down more forcefully.

The old man spun on him. "Rhe-hu !" He cried out, eerily enraged. His hand flew upwards to point the now activated device towards Daniel.

How could he have shifted the device from Janet's hand to his own so quickly? Yet that was only half of the puzzle. Though the man's eyes still failed to glow and his voice was entirely his own, without even the hint of a Goa'uld's harsh resonance, the hand device was already beginning to bore into Daniel's skull.

That's not possible.

"Dr. Jackson!" Daniel heard Janet's cry only vaguely through the tortuous pulse of the beam. "Sha'vak, please," she called out urgently; yet her voice was oddly soft, distant. "Stop! Please!"

Daniel heard nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Jack studied the cave entrance through his binoculars. Little more than a dark hole within a mound of boulders and shielded by a thick row of bushes, it could easily have been overlooked. Without Mordin, it might have been.

"How is it guarded?" He asked the former Messenger.

"Guarded?"

Jack looked at the thin man, staggered by the confusion evident in his reply. "As in `watched'?" More confusion. "How do you stop intruders from getting in?"

Mordin shook his head. "That has never been a concern."

"Well, we can bet it is now," Jack said softly, blowing out a rush of air in frustration. "We have to believe they're expecting us."

"Indeed," Teal'c concurred.

Splitting up to approach from two separate directions, they moved cautiously forward, now relying more on military training than Mordin's memories. Jack's eyes darted from the trees to the cave, searching for signs of Messengers. He found none. He saw Lieutenant James glance frequently into the branches above them, and he felt a cold chill prickle his scalp. The lieutenant was not a novice. That these Messenger folks had managed to overwhelm James and his men so easily before was a disturbing thought. Jack quickly found his own eyes drawn upwards. He did not want a repeat performance.

The forest around them remained still and silent. It was so devoid of movement that the quiet rustling of a single bush near the cave mouth seemed to scream an alert. Signaling his men, Jack held his weapon ready and knew they did the same. His flexed his finger in preparation to pull the trigger as his eyes sought details hidden amongst the leaves. There. A movement produced a glimpse of flesh.

Jack's finger danced gently above the trigger. He watched the movement continue, saw a flash of red emerge above the foliage. Behind it came an arm, as someone started to wave a red-fringed hat.

"Ola allay," a voice called out. "Ola allay."

Jack gave another signal. *Hold fire. * His senses on full alert, he kept his focus on the bush yet did not ignore the surrounding area. This was probably a diversion. They had to be ready. An attack could still come from anywhere.

"Ola allay." The shouting continued. A dark head rose above the bush, and a child emerged. "Ola allay," the boy cried repeatedly, waving his hat and smiling in their direction.

"Shit," Jack whispered. He'd seen the tactic before. It disgusted him that people could use their own children to lure an enemy into the open. He signaled his team again. *Hold position.*

Mordin, however, was not exactly a part of the team. The former Messenger rose and walked cautiously towards the boy, saying something in a language Jack could not understand. The boy nodded animatedly, his smile widening as he urged Mordin to follow him to the cave.

"Don't go, dammit !"

But Mordin did not have a radio, and could not possibly hear Jack's whispered command. He let the boy lead him, and disappeared into the entrance for a few heart-stopping seconds. When he re-emerged, Mordin was also smiling. "It is okay," He shouted, his eyes aimed at Jack's hiding place. "It is safe."

"Ola allay !" The boy said again.

"Shit," Jack whispered. Then, into his radio, "Teal'c, Carter, you're with me. James, you and your men hold position."

"Ola allay !"

"It is okay."

"My ass, it's okay," Jack mumbled to himself before stepping out into the open. He hurried to Mordin's side while Teal'c and Carter scanned the area. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It is safe," Mordin repeated. "Mal'chok has cleared the entrance."

"The boy?"

Mordin nodded. "Yes. The boy."

"O'Neill!"

When Teal'c called him to the cave mouth, Jack hesitated just long enough to give Mordin and the boy a cold glare. Yet his irritation quickly gave way to confusion. Two men lay unconscious at the entrance, and at least two more shadows lay just beyond.

"They're alive," Carter announced, checking the pulse of the second man. On instinct, she turned his head, looking for the sign of a `poisoned' dart like the one James had reported. And there it was, a red mark just below the man's left ear.

Jack turned to Mordin again. "The boy did this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You are friends of the Holy Scribe," Mal'chok answered for himself, his face beaming with excitement.

"Holy what?"

"Scribe?" Carter asked. "You mean Daniel?"

"Yes." The boy smiled. "Daniel Jackson."

"Why would you hurt your own ... *friends* to help his?" Jack asked suspiciously, eyeing the sleeping guards.

"They were afraid. I did not want them to hurt you."

"Oh. And you're not afraid?"

"No. I trust in Daniel Jackson. So I also trust in you."

"Why's that?"

"Because he does not trust in only one truth."

"Wow," Carter replied. "That's a pretty profound thought for someone your age."

"I am afraid he learned his questioning ways from me," Mordin spoke up. "I am his uncle."

 

\- 11 -

 

Voices slowly came into Daniel's consciousness.

"Sha'vak sometimes brings us new words. I believe he refers to you both."

 

* Pa'lok ? * Daniel blinked his eyes open, disturbed to see a blurred, golden glow surrounding him.

"How?" That was Janet's voice. Dr. Fraiser.

"Ralnet and the Holy Scribe." Pa'lok again. "But there is more to this word I do not yet understand."

"Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel blinked, expecting to find Dr. Fraiser bending over him with one of her ever-present penlights. But she wasn't there.

"Can you tell me how you feel?"

Another blink. "Like I was just...," He turned his head in the direction of her voice, the movement awakening the dim sensation of the hard surface beneath his tender skull, "...hit by another Goa'uld hand device."

She was lying beside him. Yet there was something odd, skewed in the angle at which she appeared. Daniel's confusion grew when he saw she was pinned to a gilded table by two pairs of golden shackles holding her wrists and ankles.

"Do you know where you are?" She asked.

*She's standing*, he realized suddenly. She was pinned to a wall, not a table, with the tall Messenger, Pa'lok kneeling at her feet.

Only then did it occur to Daniel that he was standing, too. Thankfully, his head was starting to clear.

"P97-654," He answered, finally getting his sense of perspective back in order. He was all too familiar with the drill. Dr. Fraiser would be trying to determine how much damage had been done. "This is Sha'vak's ... ship ... or something." He blinked a few more times, the entire story coming back to him. "I'm okay. Really."

"Well," Janet sighed, "Under the circumstances I suppose I'm going to have to take you at your word for that."

"Yeah," He answered with a small smile, "I suppose you will."

Giving his attention to the gold-hued bands around his own wrists, he tugged experimentally.

"Don't waste your energy," Janet offered. "Sha'vak sealed them with some kind of beam."

Daniel studied Pa'lok, pondering the enigma of the tall man's Holy leader. *What kind of being was Sha'vak, anyway? * If he was a Goa'uld, then why was he in such unkempt health, even if he didn't have a sarcophagus? And if he wasn't a Goa'uld, how could he use their devices? "What is this all about?" He asked the kneeling man. "Why are we chained?"

Pa'lok shook his head.

"I thought Sha'vak wanted to talk with us. He said we were the holy ones."

Pa'lok nodded. "Yes."

Daniel was more confused than ever. "Is this how he would treat your gods?"

Pa'lok shook his head again. "No. But the god, he says, is locked within. This woman is but the Holy Vessel, as you are the...."

"Yes, I know. The Holy Scribe. So you told me. But..." He tugged at his bindings once more. "Where we come from, we treat our holy ones, god or not, with respect."

Another nod. "We are the same, then."

"How?" Daniel asked a bit louder than he'd intended. His nerves were about as frayed as they could ever be. "This is not respect."

The tall Messenger looked to the ground. "Yes. Forgive me. But as Sha'vak says, the body is but a vessel. It matters not. It is what resides within that should be venerated."

Daniel closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He was tired - so tired of talking in circles with these people, first in Unity, now here. That they had ever managed to come together as a society was starting to appear more and more like a minor miracle.

His frustration eased somewhat when the sound of a chant arose behind him. Curious, he listened to the echoes, concentrating on the cadence of the sound and searching for the patterns of words. He found none. As the chanter drew closer, approaching from some distant corner of the massive room, it became clear that there were no consonants interspersed among the vowels. And though the voice was old, it reminded Daniel of a baby's attempt to imitate what it hears, glorying in the resonance as its ooo's and aaa's bounced back from the ceiling high above.

Unable to peer around the corner of the wall that held him, Daniel followed the progress of the ghostly song with his ears alone, until it finally gained form in the skeletal figure of Sha'vak. The old man glided into Daniel's peripheral view, then passed quickly by, his gaze focused entirely on Dr. Fraiser.

"Ralnet rhe-hu." Sha'vak said finally, bringing an end to the ooo-ing. He took a step nearer to Janet. "Ralnet rhe-hu." Another step. "Ralnet rhe-hu." And another.

Daniel found himself growing unnerved by the ceremonious approach. "Sha'vak," He tried to interrupt, "we came here to speak with you. We want to understand."

"Ralnet rhe-hu. Ralnet rhe-hu."

Daniel was ignored. He caught Janet's eye, and saw that she was discomfited as well, but he could offer her no reassurance as the old man took Pa'lok's place, kneeling at her feet. Twig-like fingers reached upwards, poking at the doctor's robes until he lifted away the slit fabric at her waist. His actions far more gentle than his rough appearance would suggest, Sha'vak tucked two flaps of fabric into two smaller slits, sufficiently exposing the flesh of Janet's abdomen.

"Ralnet rhe-hu," He whispered one, last time before opening his mouth wide and pressing his lips lightly against her.

Daniel realized he was holding his breath as he watched Janet's entire body shudder in repulsion. Yet nothing further was done. Sha'vak merely held his position, open-mouthed as though he sought to swallow something out of Janet's belly button ... as though he expected something to emerge, something destined for his own throat.

Her own mouth struggling uselessly against words that refused to form, Janet turned to Daniel with a silent cry for help.

"Sha ... Sha'vak ?" Daniel, too, had difficulty finding words strong enough to force the old man away. "You ... you don't...." He considered the slits in Janet's robes, and gambled with an impossible possibility. "She is not a Jaffa."

It worked. The hermit closed his mouth, sat back on his heels, and turned a puzzled eye on Daniel.

"There is no Goa'uld in her."

"Hmmfff." Disbelieving and indignant, Sha'vak returned to his open-mouthed position.

"She does not carry a Goa'uld."

Daniel's words seemed to go unheard. Yet Sha'vak did alter his actions. He raised a knotted finger, letting the dirt-black nail delicately trace a small circle around the doctor's navel.

Janet let out an audible gasp as a new, more violent wave of shudders passed through her.

"Sha'vak !" Daniel shouted. "She is not a Jaffa !"

Eyes burning with a madness that reflected both rage and desire, the old hermit spun toward Daniel. "What you know? Hmm? You. Scribe. What know?"

"I ... know much about the Goa'uld."

The eyes sparked in recognition.

"Do you know them? The Goa'uld ?" Daniel ventured.

"Goo-ahh-u-old ..." The hermit whispered back reverently.

"Yes. What do you know of them?"

"Gooooo-ahhh-u-old ..." Sha'vak turned away and began rummaging through his back pack as he had earlier.

After sharing a bewildered glance with Janet, Daniel was disturbed to find the old man had taken hold of a Goa'uld daggar. "Sh ... Sha'vak..?"

The hermit ignored him and moved forward, bringing the point of the dagger delicately against Janet's abdomen.

"Sha'vak, wait!" Daniel cried out. "Please, talk to me. Help me to understand. Are you looking for a Goa'uld ?"

The withered hand hesitated.

"Do you want to find a Goa'uld ?" Daniel guessed aloud. "You want to be a ... a host?"

"Host," Sha'vak repeated. There was a small nod. "Yes. Host."

Startled, Daniel prodded further. "What do you know of the Goa'uld ? Have you seen one here before?"

"Yes. I know of ... Goo -ah-u-old." Daniel heard soft sniffing. "In the city. Ralnet. She ... she left me."

"She left you? Sha'vak, did Ralnet take you as a host?"

"Host." More sniffling. "Host. Yes." The dagger moved back to Janet's abdomen.

"No!" Daniel shouted to stay the man's hand. Recognizing the renewed hesitation, he swallowed hard before daring to continue. "Sha'vak," He said more softly, "don't. Please. Please, just stop. Tell me more. I'm sure we can help you find whatever it is you need. Please. Just put that away. It won't help you."

"Goo -ah-u-old?"

"Not there. Not within her. She is not Jaffa."

"No Goo -ah-u-old?"

Daniel shook his head. "I'm sorry. But we can still help you."

"You know of Gooo-ahhh-u-old ?"

"Yes."

"You must give me. I must know." Sha'vak raised the dagger once more, yet this time he did not bring it to bear on Janet. Instead, he turned to Daniel. "I must know."

The blade held high in Sha'vak's right hand, he moved slowly yet determinedly forward, seeming like the stereotypical psycho- slasher from some old, low budget movie. A moment later his free hand pulled at Daniel's clothing, deftly ripping both the jacket and the tee-shirt beneath in one, quick, violent tug.

"Sh ... Sha'vak ?" Daniel stuttered. "I don't have a Goa'uld either."

"But you *know*."

"Yes. I can tell you..."

"Yes. I must know." And the slasher struck, driving his weapon down for the kill.

 

\- 12 -

 

"O'Neill!"

Jack stepped out of the circle where the transport rings had deposited him, and spun around at Teal'c's urgent shout. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristling as his Jaffa friend fired the staff weapon, blasting away at some new threat. At the same time, he heard Doc Frasier calling out to him.

"Colonel!"

Bringing his own weapon quickly to bear on whatever this new threat might be, Jack O'Neill could not have been less prepared to face the scene he'd been drawn to. The image of a scraggly old man crumpling to the ground, his back black and raw from the impact of Teal'c's keen aim, might have caused him no great concern. In fact, since the man had stood in front of Daniel, a chained and obviously captive Daniel, the old man probably deserved that shot - and maybe even a few more. Yet there was something else there, something not quite right. The way the man's hand was held fist-like at Daniel's chest was bothersome. There was something macabre and gothic in the sight of that fist slowly loosening as the old man's life drained away. But when the old man was finally down for the count, giving Jack full view of his captive friend, Jack O'Neill could not believe what he saw. He did not want to believe it.

"He's dead, sir," Carter announced, already kneeling beside Teal'c's target.

Jack nodded, but his eyes were locked on Daniel and the hilt of the dagger protruding from the younger man's rapidly reddening chest.

"Don't take it out!" Doc Frasier shouted from behind him.

"God, Daniel," Jack whispered, his hand hovering above the dagger. He wanted it to be gone but knew he couldn't remove it. Doing so would only increase the blood flow and bring his friend that much closer to death. Daniel's eyes already seemed to be clouding. "Just hang on there, buddy. We'll get you out of this."

He heard a buzz of energy behind him and knew without turning that Teal'c had managed to free Dr. Frasier. An instant later, Daniel, too, was freed. Teal'c cradled him gently as he brought him to rest on the ground, where he was immediately tended to by both Frasier and Carter. Jack couldn't hope for more expert care. But was it enough?

 

* * *

 

Screams, curses and strobing lights accompanied a burning pressure in Daniel's chest. His breath caught. His vision blurred as the room spun around him. He opened his mouth, wanting to shout at the world to bring an end to this psychedelic circus, but nothing emerged. Gasping, he realized he didn't have the strength. He didn't have the breath.

O'Neill!

As the shouts became voices, he was sure he heard Teal'c. If Teal'c was there, he knew he was safe. Safe. Daniel sagged against his restraints and slowly blinked, hoping to win back a sense of reality.

When the bright lights went dark, the image of Sha'vak became a shadow that whirled and disappeared. Another blink, and another face came into view. Jack? But the word stayed locked within the confines of his burning lungs.

He's dead, sir.

Sam? No. I'm good. I'm .... He couldn't breathe.

"Dr. Jackson?"

Dr. Frasier ? Daniel felt a frightening surge of deja -vu. He expected to find Janet chained to a table beside him.

"You're alright, Dr. Jackson," Frasier said softly. "You're safe. We're back in the SGC. There's nothing to worry about."

He blinked again. This time, an entirely different scene greeted him. *The infirmary?*

"Well, if it isn't my knight in shining armor." The petite doctor gave him a warm, welcoming smile.

"Excuse me?" Jack was standing next to her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes shining with perhaps a little extra moisture despite his indignant expression.

"You read my report, Colonel. If it weren't for Dr. Jackson, Mr. Sha'vak would have disemboweled me, and your grand entrance would have been just a tad too late."

"Yeah, well I still say he talked too much, as always. If he'd kept his mouth shut for just two seconds, we might have gotten there before the old guy turned him into shish kabob."

"Maybe you should've gotten there two seconds earlier." Daniel's voice sounded hoarse. He wasn't even sure anyone heard him, until Jack replied with a less than heartfelt, childlike, "says you."

"You know," Jack went on after clearing his throat, "if it weren't for that conniving, little munchkin...."

"We might not have found you at all," Sam interrupted, then flashed Daniel one of her own, patented grins when he turned his attention her way. "Hey," She said in greeting. "You had us worried there, for a while."

"I think I had myself worried," Daniel answered quietly. "What ... uh ... what munchkin?"

"Mal'chok," Teal'c offered with a seemingly reverent nod. "The son of Pa'lok."

Remembering the red- hatted boy whose ploy to steal a book had started both Janet and him on the journey to Sha'vok, Daniel couldn't help but grow angry at hearing that name repeated now. Yet Sam had suggested Mal'chok's conniving might actually have been used to their favor at the end. "How? What did he do?"

"You can read all the reports later, Dr. Jackson," Janet suggested. "I think that's enough for now. You need your rest." She turned to Jack. "And you, Colonel, have a briefing in General Hammond's office, as I recall."

Jack looked at his watch. "We still have two minutes."

"Out, Colonel."

"You're supposed to be there too, Doc," Jack replied. "As I recall."

"I'll be there. Now go!"

After the rest of his team said their good-byes, with a kiss from Sam, a nod from Teal'c and a relieved smile from Jack, Daniel watched Janet write something on his chart. She was clearly uninjured from their run-in with Sha'vak, but her wrists bore red marks and slight bruising. He remembered her telling him not to struggle against the restraints. She'd said it was useless, that they had been sealed with an energy beam. Yet she had obviously done a fair amount of struggling herself. Why had she gone against her own advise ? Had she thought to save him, fighting her own sense of helplessness despite the impossible odds? Yes. Of course she did. Janet Frasier was usually far from helpless, especially on her own turf.

"Briefing?" He asked, moving these thoughts aside.

"SG-11 is going to help Unity acclimate some of the Messengers."

"Ow," Daniel feigned a grimace. "That is *not* going to be pleasant."

"Don't I know it. "

"I didn't get a chance to finish my notes." Daniel's grimace was real this time. "Half of everything I learned about that planet came about after we met the Messengers. SG-11 is going to need my input."

"I know. So do they. But it can wait. They have enough to get started. And they *have* to get started. Besides, I was there, too, you know. I can help to steer them in the right direction until you're up and about."

"Of course. I didn't mean...."

She smiled. "No offense taken, Dr. Jackson. You're the anthropologist around here, not me. And it was your expertise that saved my life. I'll never forget that. I couldn't imagine what Mr. Sha'vak wanted from me. And if I had, I wouldn't have known what to say to change his mind. Not like you. You never lost your head. You knew how to confront him, how to talk to him. I, on the other hand, couldn't string two words together."

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think my words were all that successful." Daniel raised his arm slightly to indicate the IV.

Janet shrugged, her smile and her voice softening. "You saved my life. You were certainly successful there. Mr. Sha'vak was clinically insane. You had no way of knowing how he would react to anything you said. Yet you turned him away from me, without giving a thought to your own well being."

"What was wrong with him?"

"We did an autopsy this morning. Not all the results are in yet, but we do know he had a severe chemical imbalance. I believe it was caused somehow by his body rejecting a Goa'uld."

"He really was a host?"

"The protein marker was unmistakable. I think his body chemistry was just different enough from ours that the Goa'uld couldn't live within him. It might even have been trapped inside of him, unable to take another host. It seems the people on P97-654 simply cannot serve as viable hosts; using them might even be a death sentence for a Goa'uld."

"So that's why they never came back."

"Could be. We still have a lot of mysteries to solve. Why Ralnet stayed behind. Why whoever was in charge didn't ensure the entire population was destroyed. Why the Messengers chose to follow a clearly unstable man in the first place."

"No. That one's not too hard to understand. Some ancient peoples were known to think of madness as a sign that someone had been touched by the gods."

"Well, he was touched alright."

"I think you're spending too much time with Jack."

"And I think you're spending too much time talking when you should be resting."

"I don't think I'm the only one at fault, here."

"Point taken, Dr. Jackson," She replied with a small laugh. "You're absolutely right. I just wanted to make sure you knew how much I appreciated what you did for me." Her smile gained substance, somehow. It did not broaden. It was not a joyful smile. Yet it grew wider from the tender spark of her eyes. Before she turned away, she reached for his hand and squeezed it gently, an action that said `thank you' as words could not.

 

\- The End -


End file.
